


How To Cure A Death Eater

by TwoLonelyHearts



Category: Doctor Who (2005), Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Crossover, Teninch Fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-15
Updated: 2015-09-03
Packaged: 2018-04-14 18:23:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,686
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4575030
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TwoLonelyHearts/pseuds/TwoLonelyHearts
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Barty Crouch, Jr. grew up rebelling against the just morality of his stern father and benevolent mother. It eventually led to his devotion to Lord Voldemort and his strong prejudice against Muggles and all alike. After being imprisoned by his own father, he was laid to rot before the Dementors. That was, until he met a Half-Blood named Rose Tyler.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Impurities

**Author's Note:**

> Author Note: This story does not typically comply with some of the canon aspects or its timeline. Instead of Barty Crouch, Jr. being convicted when he was nineteen, he was imprisoned when he was twenty-seven. Igor Karkaroff did not confess the names of the Death Eaters until years later. Barty Crouch, Sr. was still Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement when his son was placed on trial, hence he was there to sentence him to a lifetime in Azkaban. He left his position after his son's trial and was placed in charge of the Department of International Magical Cooperation.
> 
> Azkaban is not only guarded by Dementors, but it is also guarded by witches and wizards.
> 
> Cover art by MrBorsch on DeviantArt
> 
> Beta read by ElvishPenguin12. All other mistakes are ours.

Chapter 1: Impurities

The darkness and the cold were driving him mad. Not that he wasn't already mad, according to everyone else he was the very definition of madness. It wasn't his fault that they didn't understand him. Even his own parents never did. Many people speculated that it was that very reason he was in this godforsaken place. "His father should have paid better attention to him," they said. "That boy was never right in the head."

Those idiots. If he had his way he would show them. He would show all of them.

He sat on the freezing stone floor of his cell, lost in thoughts of hatred and anger. The stiff fabric of his uniform scratched at his skin. His tongue flicked out of his mouth, a habit he'd developed in childhood and never outgrew. He didn't mind it, he thought it intimidated people. They had always thought him odd and the tongue-flicking habit of his had just reinforced that idea. They had always stayed away from him, giving him the distance he craved.

It was his third week in Azkaban, though it felt like much more time had passed. He could hear the screams and wails of other prisoners - day and night - until they were silenced by the Dementors. They begged for mercy; to be released from this hell hole. They proclaimed innocence and spouted other lies that were merely desperate pleas for escape.

It would be him next. When those horrid, dark creatures would come and feed off of the little happiness he had left, his screams would mix with the rest. There were no ears to hear them, except for the guards, but they only snickered at their cries.

He gazed up at the barred window high on the wall, his only view of the outside world. He could see the night sky from the small opening. Even in this pit of despair, he found joy in looking up at the stars, crystallized dots in a black canvas. When he was a boy, he would sometimes dream that he could jump high enough to reach them and fly through the vast reaches of space. Now, it still remained a dream.

He was a wingless bird stuck in a cage.

Moonlight shone through his window and illuminated his darkened room. One toilet and one hard, metal bed. That was all he was permitted. The rest was stone and metal bars that surrounded his every sight, the constant reminder of his location making him nauseous. He heard the gate down the hall creak open and he turned his head at the noise.

"Here are the upperlevel prisoners, Mr. Tyler," a man's voice echoed from down the corridor.

"Are you sure you want come here with me, Rose?" A different man asked. His voice sounded familiar to him. "Going with me to the lower level was one thing, but this floor has more . . . brutish criminals."

"Dad, I can take care of myself," a defiant female voice replied.

The steps were getting closer to his cell. He could see the faint figures through the shadows, the tips of their wands illuminating the corridor. When they reached his cell, he was able to have a proper look at the visitants. A group of guards were encircled around apparent civilians. One of them he recognized as Peter Tyler, the Warden of Azkaban. In the past, he occasionally found the man at his house talking to his father about the Ministry of Magic.

Tyler was new in this position, a job he had earned a little more than a year ago. As the warden of Azkaban, he was in charge of the highest security level prison in the entire Wizard World, filled with the most ruthless criminals to have existed. He was the one to ensure that none could escape while working with merciless Dementors as well. Indeed, the job certainly paid a high salary for the man with that responsibility.

Pete was also new money, gaining his fortune through his invention of pumpkin juice, previously known as Vitex. New money, Barty snorted at the thought. That was the worst kind of wealth. He knew that before, the popular millionaire was simply a lower-class wizard who lived in the housing estates of South London with his wife and daughter. They were just poor scum that had gotten lucky and polished themselves up. It did not change the fact that they were still indecent filth underneath.

But his disapproval of Peter Tyler went deeper than the acquisition of his wealth. It was of whom he had married. Pete was a pureblood wizard who had stooped as low as to marry a Muggle. A bloody disgusting Muggle. A vile taste entered Barty's mouth whenever he uttered that word - Muggle.

Next to Pete stood a young woman, around fifteen or sixteen. Her long blonde hair tumbled down her pink hoodie. Her lashes were thick with mascara, but he couldn't help but feel that even without the make-up, she would still be beautiful. Hidden beneath her lashes were bright hazel eyes that seemed to flicker with gold in the light. Her picturesque appearance was out of place in the dark prison.

Ah, so this was the girl that he heard some of the guards gossip about. "Pete's hot daughter."

"Dad," he heard her whisper. "Isn't that Mr. Crouch's son?"

"Yes, that man right there," a guard answered her, "is Barty Crouch, Jr. That one's a bit mental if you ask me. But that wouldn't be a surprise as he's a damn Death Eater."

He didn't like this particular guard. In addition to his putrid breath and rugged appearance, he would always give him dirty looks. When he would receive his routine Dementor visit, the man taunted him with his begs for mercy. He would spit in his face, toss his food on the floor, and sneer at him.

"If it was up to me," the guard continued, "he wouldn't have a life sentence. No, he would get the Dementor's Kiss."

"Well no one asked you," the girl shot back at him. Barty could feel the girl's intoxicating eyes continue to look at him and it took every ounce of his willpower not to look up and meet her gaze. "Merlin's beard, he looks worse than the others. How long has he been here?"

"I think it's been almost a month since his imprisonment," Pete answered her. "You shouldn't give him too much pity, Rose. That man's the reason one of your schoolmates, Neville Longbottom, no longer has any parents. He and his Death Eater friends tortured them using the Cruciatus Curse. They were driven mad, never even given the peace of death. They lost their minds and now, to this day, they're instituted in St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries."

Barty could still feel her eyes on him and he tried focusing his attention on the stone slabs beneath him. He'd already counted the exact number of bricks - maybe he could recalculate… just to make sure.

"I feel sorry for his father," Pete went on. "The man dedicated his life to bringing criminal wizards to justice and it turns out his own son is a follower of You-Know-Who, torturing and killing others in his name." He sighed, shuddered, and glanced around nervously. "Alright, let's keep going, Rose."

"Yeah…" Rose gave Barty one last look before she turned and headed off with her father and the guards.

Barty watched as the lights dimmed while the group walked farther away from his cell. He found himself observing the girl's golden-blonde hair sway across her back with every step. After a few minutes, his room returned to silence and he was once again alone in the dark with only his thoughts to keep him company.

* * *

"Rose, I think this is one of your maddest ideas yet," Mickey said as he unlocked the gate and it creaked open.

Mickey Smith had been Rose's best mate for as long as she could remember. She had grown up with him in the Powell Estates, went to school together, even dated at some point - though he was a few years older than her.

Jackie and Pete treated him as their own son. Pete was sort of a mentor to Mickey in the Wizard World, as his gran, his guardian, was a Muggle and could not provide him with the knowledge or experience he needed. It was Jackie and Pete who drove Mickey to King's Cross Station to begin his first year of Hogwarts.

When Mickey was seventeen and Rose was fourteen, his gran passed away. Mickey dropped out of Hogwarts and started working at a Muggle mechanic shop to pay for his gran's flat. When Pete was given the position as Warden of Azkaban, he immediately asked Mickey if he wanted a job as well. Mickey eagerly agreed and Pete hired him as a guard.

"Oh shut it, Mickey. You're acting like we haven't done this before." Rose rolled her eyes while peering out into the dark corridor as she tried to balance a tray of food in her hands.

"Sure we have, with lower level prisoners." He looked behind him before closing the gate. "Not with the upper level lot. Not with a killer. Not with a bleeding Death Eater."

Rose groaned in exasperation. "Don't get your knickers in a twist, I only want to talk to him. That's all. Besides, there are bars separating us if anything does go awry and he is as psychopathic as they say he is. Why do you have to be such a coward sometimes?"

"Coward?" Mickey spluttered. "I'm only talking sense while you're the nutter who wants to see a murderer. Do you know there are more Dementors on this floor? I, for one, don't want to get snogged by those things. I don't know why you do it. The things you do sometimes…it's beyond me to even understand it."

Rose ignored him as she walked down the hall and looked through the individual jail cells. Mickey followed her from behind, still muttering complaints, but had given up on trying to dissuade her. After passing several cells, she found him.

He was still sitting in the same huddled position as when she last saw him. His gray, striped prison jumpsuit was ragged and worn despite it only being used for a month. His dark brown eyes stared blankly at the ground, dark circles surrounding them. She could tell that beneath the clouded irises was a haunted expression – she didn't know if it was because of the past or present. A powder of dirt was smeared beneath his cheekbone. His gaunt face had a sickly pale complexion. Thick brown hair was disheveled and flopped over his forehead. He didn't seem to have a recent shave as a five o'clock shadow darkened his jaw. Despite all of this, she could see he was of noble birth - his straight Patrician nose and sharp, high cheekbones were enough proof of that. Overall though, his appearance and expression showed a resigned man, damaged and battered, ready to wave the white flag.

Empathy was an emotion Rose was naturally inclined to. It defined who she was, helped her have a deep understanding of others. Her parents called it a curse and a blessing. It was beautiful to care so much, yet they thought sometimes she would care for the wrong characters. Evil and cruelty were minor factors that she would always ignore - they were irrelevant when evaluating a person's character. Jackie and Pete worried their daughter would be blind to see the "bad" in someone, and would only see the good. It was for those reasons that people were tricked, shammed, or hurt in the real world…they were simply too innocent and naive for their own good.

Rose empathized with the stranger. Something about him drew her in. The pain and loneliness radiated from him, almost suffocating her with its negative power. She felt like she was drowning… This man needed someone to save him - someone to pull him out from that never-ending dark pit of negativity. Staring at him, Rose realised suddenly, that although the man seemed half-dead, his eyes hadn't lost the spark completely. There was still a soul left behind. A soul which had survived all those terrible deeds and horrible crimes he had committed. And sometimes, she thought, life would shape you into a person you never thought you would become.

They stood by Barty's jail cell, staring at the tattered man before them. Mickey fidgeted in his spot and nervously looked at the prisoner behind bars. Rose noticed Mickey's apprehension and felt sympathy for her friend.

"Mickey, do you want to stand by the gate and keep a look out while I talk to him? You know…for guards and Dementors."

"I…" Mickey hesitantly started, but was cut off by Rose.

"It's only going to be a few minutes, yeah?"

He sighed and made his way back to the gate. "Pete's going to kill me when he finds out," he muttered.

Rose kept her eyes on Barty and waited to see if he would notice her. When his gaze did not leave the ground, she dusted off the floor in front of her and sat down facing the bars. She crisscrossed her legs and rested the tray of food on her lap. She was beginning to have second thoughts, but took a deep breath and prompted herself to complete the task she wanted to do.

"Hello," she said. The man glanced at her for a moment and looked away. His eyes now faced the wall in front of him. "My name's Rose. I brought your supper, thought you might need some food." She slipped the tray into the small opening in the door of his cell, made to fit trays the exact size. A delicious, mouth-watering fragrance permeated the air, overthrowing the constant moldy and putrid odor of the prison. His meal was supposed to be fish and chips, except the cafeteria had run short of fish so all that filled his tray was chips and a bottle of water. The man looked at the food warily before he reached out and took a handful of the greasy food. She was relieved when he began munching on them greedily.

"So I just…you seemed a bit lonely here. My friend, Mickey, he told me it's a bad idea coming here, but what does he know right? The man can be a wimp sometimes. Maybe that's why I broke up with him. N-not that you needed to know that," she stammered while playing with a silver hoop earring that dangled from her ear lobe. "I just think that everyone needs company, no matter who you are. My mum says that there are so many people in the world because they all need someone to talk to. 'Course I think that-"

"Are you gonna witter on all night?" the man cut her off, giving her a scrutinizing look.

She brightened when he finally spoke. "I-Sorry I develop a bit of a gob when I don't know what to say." She bit her lip. "I know it's hard. The first month always is. You can feel the Dementors eating away at your happiness at every visit. I just think the way they treat prisoners is just…inhumane. No matter who you are or what you've done, no one should be treated like this. Imagine, we live in such a magical world filled with wondrous things…yet we can create such horrors and nightmares within it." She sighed. "'Course Dad disagrees with me, thinks the prisoners deserve it. Reckon it's because of that job of his, filling his head with rubbish. He's the Warden."

"I know."

"What?" She scrunched her eyebrows together.

"I know that your father is Peter Tyler. I know you're his daughter…the one with inferior blood. It's a shame that wizards these days pollute their family line with," he frowned in disgust, "Muggles."

"Well, I guess that's one way in seeing it. Dad didn't really marry my mum 'cause she was a Muggle," Rose shifted uncomfortably.

"And who do you think you are talking to me so casually?" He got up from his spot and took three long strides to stand by the bars. He wrapped his hands on the cool metal and peered his face between them. His sudden actions caused Rose to jump and slowly stand up. She gazed at him, startled. "Do you even know who I am? Who my father is? I have the wealth worthy of Kings and Queens, I have delved into the deepest recesses of magic… Magic you can only ever dream of controlling." His tongue flicked out for a second, wetting his lips, while his eyes widened in a manic manner. Rose's eyes glanced at his flitting tongue. "So next time, think about who you're talking to, Chav. Because I certainly don't want to talk to a filthy mudblood."

Rose's hand whipped in the air and connected with his face with a loud slap. It was a blow she knew her mum would no doubt be proud of. Barty's jaw dropped.

How dare she! No one has ever touched me this way, he thought.

How dare he, that inconsiderate little…Rose let the thought drop.

"Listen 'ere, Mr. Crouch." She winced a little as she heard her accent turn thicker, her childhood roots becoming evident. It was something she couldn't control when her emotions got the best of her. "I don't care what your upbringing is or who your father is. I don't care if you were wealthy or the bleeding Queen of England. I don't care who you think you are because you know what I see? Just a formerly rich git who is rude and…and…" She was temporarily distracted by the thick brown strands of hair on his head. "Not ginger!" She shouted at him, wondering, for a moment, whether she could have thought of an even more moronic insult. Not ginger? Her cheeks flushed with embarrassment. That's the best you could have said? Not ginger? She really couldn't think when she was angry. She was quick to conceal her humiliation and looked at Barty straight in the eye. Holding her head up high, she huffed at him and stormed off, leaving Barty to stare at her retreating figure.

Not ginger? he thought as he ran his hand through his hair. What possessed her to say that? He walked back to his original place and slumped on the cell wall, cradling his reddened cheek. A small sense of guilt nudged at him. But this is how it's supposed to be, right? He was a pureblood wizard who shouldn't have any association with the likes of mudbloods, even from her social class. They were abominations. They were a disgrace to wizard kind. It was what the Dark Lord had always taught them, and it was an ideal he worshipped.

Yet, this one seemed different.

The odd thing, however, was that as he thought about her, and about that charming smile and kind voice, he felt cracks appear in his inner walls. Walls which he had constructed years ago - a sort of defense mechanism against emotions - the very thing that made others so weak. Those little cracks however, had allowed something small to slither in. A spark – a spark was all it took to light the flame.


	2. Breaking the Defenses

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta read by ElvishPenguin12 on FF.net. All other mistakes are ours.

Chapter 2: Breaking the Defenses

"Stupid, Rose," she muttered. "This is being completely and quite utterly stupid."

Rose's footsteps echoed as she walked down the quiet corridor. A stolen key was clutched in her hand. The occasional moans from other prisoners joined her footsteps in a cacophony of sounds. She nibbled on her lip while wiping the sweaty palm of her left hand on her jeans, feeling very anxious about how their conversation was going to proceed.

She could almost see his scowling expression, snarling at her, telling her she was nothing and that he didn't need her. Rose flinched and shook herself. She was a Hufflepuff...but that wouldn't stop her from being brave.

She found him huddled in the same corner, his back hunched over and his knees drawn tight to his chest.

"Hello," she said as she reached his cell.

In a slow, wary motion, he raised his tired yet sharp eyes to meet hers. They were so full of misery and suffering that it made Rose almost cringe with sympathy. The rags the Azkaban guards called clothes were tightly pulled against his body.

He rolled his eyes at her as she settled down in front of his cell and growled out, "You again? Don't you have anything better to do than to irritate me?"

Rose ignored his scorching remark.

"Look," she muttered in a low tone, careful not to wake the prisoner across from Barty - a shaking body wrapped in a new uniform. He must have been brought in recently. She glanced up at the plaque decorating the cell bars which confirmed her suspicion that the man, Sirius Black, had been moved into a higher security level ward last night. Turning back to Barty she said, "I just came to apologize for slapping you, yeah? I shouldn't have hit you, that wasn't right. So..." she fumbled with her fingers, "I'm sorry."

Bemusement flashed in his eyes, and Rose smiled, glad that she had managed to get a reaction, something other than a scowl or an eye-roll. A sort of awkward silence descended upon them, and Rose bit her tongue. She had questions upon questions threatening to burst out. To get to know him better. To understand him.

Yet, the reproachful expression he was giving her almost convinced her to leave. Perhaps he thought she was just a little girl seeking attention. She scowled and stood up, dusting her jeans in the process.

He should be bothered, annoyed even, that she had come back. Yet, a small part of him was grateful that she decided to come. He swore he was nearing the brink of insanity. The chorus of constant groans and screams clawed at his ears. His daily visits from Dementors left him in a state of broken despair. He even begged for his mother on some nights, the memory of her gave him only slight comfort. She was the only one who had ever cared for him.

Now, this girl stood in front of him. The only pleasant sight he'd seen in days. Her brown eyes were full of innocence and youth, a look he wished he once had. It was through her that he could somewhat forget the squalid, dejected setting in which he was caged.

Before he could stop himself, his mouth opened and words spilled out of his lips. "Well, since you apologized…" He knew he was going to regret this. Rose turned around and her hazel eyes stared at him, doubtful of his intent. "I suppose you could talk to me for a little while. To…I don't know…appease yourself with my company."

Despite his arrogance, Rose could feel that this was not an invitation, it was a request. The man was still lonely, like she had sensed from the beginning. She was reminded of why she wanted to talk to him in the first place. He still needed someone – someone to show him the way out of the labyrinth of pain and suffering.

"Alright, good."

"Good."

"So...um...what do you want to-"

"No, no, no," he shook his head, "I said you can appease yourself, meaning you can talk to me while I 'listen'. That doesn't mean I'm going to respond.

She fought hard with the natural instinct that compelled her to lash out at him.

"Ok, then," she said through gritted teeth. "How 'bout I tell you about my day."

She told him of her regular routine before arriving at Azkaban. She told him she ate pancakes for breakfast and her talks with her mum. She told him she went shopping for a bit with her mate, Shareen, before coming back home for lunch. She told him she had a cuppa and almost burned her fingers on the stove trying to make it. It was boring, ordinary stuff that she knew would be utter torture listening to - especially for him. Yet, the man didn't speak a word. It was like he was taking in everything she was saying and picturing it all in his mind.

That's what it was, Rose thought. Through her, he was seeing the outside world. He wanted to reminisce the free life instead of being trapped in this hell hole. In his mind, he could be free.

Thus, she continued. Her voice stood out from the chorus of moans like birdsong in the city's raucous atmosphere - natural and sweet.

* * *

Rose wandered down the hallway, a pear clutched between her hands. She'd managed to sneak into Azkaban with it by hiding it under her Union Jack shirt. She had been visiting Barty Crouch, Jr. for the past seven days. There was something about that man towards which Rose felt an odd… pull, especially when she was in his proximity.

Barty was sitting next to the cell door. His head was tucked into the corner, eyes closed as he slept. Rose slowly sat down, so as not to wake him, and mirrored his position against the other side of the cell door.

He looked peaceful in his sleep - and Rose rolled her eyes at the cliché. Nevertheless, it was true. His almost-permanent scowl was gone, making him look much more approachable than usual. His matted hair lay flattened upon his head, no longer bouncy and looking much like Professor Snape's. His face, however, looked a bit healthier than it had before. There was a pleasant pink tinge in the hollow cheeks, making Rose wonder what he was dreaming about.

She was about to call his name to wake him when his eyes fluttered open and focused on her. She let out a meek 'hello'. His face, however, remained impassive, although his eyes examined her figure. When his eyes rested on the pear still clutched in her hands his countenance twisted into utter hate. Rose blinked in surprise to his aversive demeanor.

She offered the pear to him, he continued scowling.

"Pears...Why the bloody hell did you get me a pear?" he spat. "They're disgusting."

She returned his expression with a challenging glare. Her hands went to her hips and her lips drew into a tight, thin line. "Honestly, the effort I went through to get this to you was difficult enough. You being picky isn't helping. A good 'thank you' should suffice quite nicely."

"Thank you?" He snorted while his tongue flicked out between his lips. "Why would I give my appreciation to a lowly mudblood such as yourself? And you've given me that loathsome food, no I can't even call it food. It's poison."

She could feel her face heating up and her eyes narrowed. "You can be such a child! It's food and you're starving! So eat it!"

When his eyes met hers again, she was pleased to notice some surprise in them. So far, she hadn't been getting much of a response from him, not emotion-wise anyway. It was as if something between them was stopping them from becoming friends. Like a barrier separating them. There was that small voice in her head that told her the reason: she was a half-blood and he was a prejudiced pureblood. It was uncertain for a friendship to even form between them - yet she still hoped.

"Fine. Give me the stupid pear."

She gave him a triumphant smile and slipped the pear between the two bars. Barty grasped it with slightly trembling fingers, an action which betrayed how weak he really was. Rose, for his own dignity, pretended not to notice and he, to spare himself a pity-filled motivational speech, averted his eyes, as if he hadn't seen that she noticed.

After a few moments of silence, his eyes swung back to meet hers and the corner of his lip tugged up. It wasn't a huge, emotional gesture, but Rose knew how to recognize a 'thank you' when she saw one.

His lips had settled upon the base of the pear when an unnatural cold invaded her senses. She shivered as the cold bit deeper and deeper into her flesh. Then, around the corner, gliding noiselessly, came a slithering, soulless creature.

A Dementor, the surrounding thick, black darkness made itself visible. The creature was repugnant, not only because of its black cloak and its scabbed, rotting hands, but also because of the despair and sadness that took immediate control over her thoughts. Could it sense fear in the vicinity? Rose was sure of it: It seemed to be coming in a rapid pace now, taking those dragging, rattling breaths she detested. Tasting despair on the air. Closing in.

Her face drained of blood and she could feel her pulse quicken.

The prisoners in the cells around them started waking, some because of the shivering cold, others because in one sudden moment, all their positive memories were gone, leaving nothing but desperation in their now hollow minds. Some cried out, others just sobbed quietly to themselves. A jab into her ribs threw her into action and she swiveled her head, only to see a still-lucid Barty. His face was twisted into that of pain as old memories were dragged to the forefront of his mind.

"Rose! Wand." He hissed through clenched teeth, the vein near his temple pulsed.

Rose blinked at him as those intense dark eyes bore into her. The very urgency and pain in them caused her to take action. She saw a hint of plea for trust in his eyes. Did Barty know a spell which could stop the Dementors? There was one, she was sure of it. Her Defense Against the Dark Arts textbook had spoken of it, but it wasn't something she'd yet learned. With a flick of her wrist, her wand fell out of its concealed wand holster and into her hand. She fumbled with the magical stick. Her fingers were trembling horribly and she couldn't concentrate.

The Dementor continued to glide towards her at a frightening rate.

She was barely conscious of what she was doing but in that one moment, all she wanted was to remember her memories. The good ones, the happy ones.

She wanted to feel warmth again.

She felt hot tears streaming down her cheeks as anguish overcame her. Rose thrust her hand out and slipped the wand into Barty's own, suddenly trusting him - a criminal - more than she had anyone in her whole life.

" _Expecto Patronum!_ " he shouted.

A few moments ticked by - Rose didn't know how long, to her it felt like an eternity. Through her wet lashes, in a bolt of light, she saw the form of a white, whispy wolf majestically sprout from the wand. It leapt towards the Dementor with determination and bravery. The dark-cloaked creature let out a shrill cry and fled. The wolf, which Rose had now identified as a Patronus, charged after it.

The moment they rounded the corner, Rose let herself slump against the wall, feeling empty and defeated, as if every ounce of energy had left her. She closed her eyes, and threw her head back, which made a painful contact with the greasy wall. At this moment, however, she couldn't find it in herself to care.

In a tentative demeanor, she opened her eyes and turned to look at her savior. Barty was tense. His whole body had stiffened and with his left hand, he was clutching a cell bar, as if to stabilize himself. His other hand was still grasping her wand so hard his knuckles were white. Barty was staring down the hallway, as if willing his Patronus to come back. His expression was equally tense, but he seemed surprised, confused. His brow furrowed deeper as he stared down at her wand.

"Curious," he muttered under his breath. "It wasn't a wolf before…" he trailed off mumbling.

"Barty?" she asked in a hushed tone, ignoring the muffled sounds of the prisoners recovering around them. Was this a daily occurrence? No wonder the prisoners went mad the instant they moved into the prison. Barty ignored her. Instead, his tongue flicked out in a neurotic gesture. "Barty!" Rose said a little louder and winced as her voice echoed down the hall.

His gaze darted towards her, eyes suddenly focused. His eyes flickered down to the hand still clutching the wand and he jerked it upwards. For a moment, Rose thought he was going to point it at her, but instead he held his palm out. Rose gingerly took it back and strapped it into her wand holster. When she turned to look at him, he was staring at her with an incomprehensible expression on his face.

"Thank you," she said, breaking the silence between them. A gentle smile settled on her face, masking the nervousness behind it. She still felt cold, as if she'd been wandering outside in the icy-cold rain for hours.

He tugged at his ear in an attempt to look casual, but Rose noticed his hand was trembling. Nevertheless, his hand reached for the abandoned pear lying on the floor of the cell and he bit into it, a grimace of dislike flitted crossing his face.

"Thank you," Barty said after a long pause, "for trusting me."

Rose was hesitant at first, but followed through with her action. She bent forward, placing her face between the bars and kissed him on the cheek in a gesture of gratitude. She made a swift turn and dashed off. If she stayed any longer, she would have seen his expression.

Barty stayed in that position for what seemed like ages before hesitantly raising a hand to his cheek and touching the spot Rose had kissed. It was there, in the dark, moldy cell, that for the first time in a long time, he smiled.

 


End file.
